THE KISS LIST
she·nan·i·gans
noun
silly, spirited behavior
mischief
1
EVERLY
Dear Diary,
I could go for some celebratory cookie dough right now because I am in the clear, baby! Cancer-free! Even writing this, I’m bouncing in my seat, doing a little happy dance while I wait for the bus.
If anyone else were here, I’d jump to my feet and hug them—yes, even the questionable fellow in the leather jacket and stringy hair who frequents this stop. One rainy afternoon, he told me that his name is Blade. Yes, I’d even hug a stranger because this kind of excitement, happiness, and relief needs to be spread like confetti!
All the exclamation points!!!
Ooh! I know, the bus driver will get a hug. She’s a stern-faced woman who hauls around that giant blue Pez dispenser on twelve wheels and looks supremely inconvenienced when I ask how she’s doing, but today she gets a hug from yours truly.
Gosh, I’m just so giddy.
It’s been a long six months, but I made it to the finish line and I want to celebrate. It’s hard to contain this level of I don’t even know what to call it. I’m alive! Alive, I tell ya!
Oh, here comes Gladys leading her natural gas-fueled chariot. I only know that because the sign on the side says,Now, fueled with natural gas. I don’t know much about what that means, but it doesn’t matter because the driver is about to be fueled by an Everly Edith Adams hug.
Wheeee!
Okay, I’m back and the hug didn’t go exactly how I intended. For one thing, I never noticed the metal partition bar installed to either make sure the driver doesn’t fall out the door or that people like me don’t try to touch said driver. Also, I didn’t calculate how high Gladys’s seat is and when I lunged in for a hug, it was more like I was wrapping myself around her waist.
Two points for Princess Awkward. But Gladys was like a queen up there on her throne and looked down at me and said, “You okay, hon?”
There’s a first time for everything. Usually when I ask her how she is, her response is along the lines of a very unconvincing,Another day in paradise.
I told her that I’ve never been better. Literally. I also fist-pumped the air a few times. If I had pompoms, I’d have shaken them.
Because this route typically doesn’t have many passengers, which meant no one was waiting to board, I was about to say,I’m officially cancer free, butthe words got stuck.
It was kind of weird. Then again, the only person on the planet who knows about the diagnosis is Heidi and my support group. But it’s easy to talk to them because either they getmeor they getit. Well, the Wise Warrior Women collectively think I’m a bit wacky, but Heidi is my bestie for life, so she rolls with my sunshine-in-space personality.
Watch out, Heidi, I’ve got a hug waiting for you and it’s coming in hot!
Speaking of temperature extremes, no, I still haven’t told my father. Haven’t talked to him since...you know.
Since the wedding ceremony that wasn’t. The wedding day ditch. The arranged marriage mishap.
Two more points to number twenty-nine with the brown, bob-length hair dodging that bullet. No, I’m not on any sort of team, but I am twenty-nine, so I figured that would be my jersey number—though, I’m not sure how those numerical designations work for sports teams.
Yes, not even thirty and a cancer diagnosis. It was minimal—early and itty bitty—but I carry the same gene my mother did. For her, it was too late. For me, I took the necessary precautions, had major surgery, and now no cancer. So here we are.
And I’m thankful. So deeply thankful.
But am I still processing leaving my fiancé at the altar? Probably. Do I regret it? Nope. Especially not when the woman I heard him refer to as his “sidepiece” crashed my wedding.
From my hiding place in the closet, I watched her stride down the aisle, profess her love for my fiancé, and that he was making a mistake.
